


Greased Lightning

by Vulgarweed



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1970s Idea of Sexy, Anal Sex, Historical, Historical - 1970s, M/M, Mirror On the Ceiling, Plot What Plot, Rimming, Snake-Related Issues, They Both Have Cocks in This One, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 16:23:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20212735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/pseuds/Vulgarweed
Summary: Crowley tries to set a very hip-for-the-times and sexy stage for a steamy evening with his Frenemy With Benefits, but things don't go quite according to plan.Inspired in part bythis gif"Halo" prompt for the 666 Fics Fics Fics challenge!(You don't have to listen tothis songwhile you read it but it will help set the scene.)





	Greased Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> **London, 1976**

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said tentatively, carrying a nice bottle of Chateau Margaux and a sense of anticipation. His adversary had promised a special atmosphere for their intimate evening, and he was a bit put out to not be greeted as warmly as he had expected.

“Um...help?” came a soft cry from the bedroom, and frustrated, slightly anxious hissing.

“Coming, dear,” Aziraphale said, ready to use the wine bottle as a weapon - he could bless it or make it flame as required, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to ruin it.

There was no enemy in the bedroom, just lava lamps. A woman singer moaned orgasmically over a throbbing disco beat. There was incense. A _mirror on the ceiling._ Massage oil on the nightstand. And a huge waterbed, covered in black satin sheets and red rose petals. Upon which a large snake rippled helplessly while staying in place.

“I’m sssstuck!” Crowley complained. “The blessssed sssheets are too ssslick and I can’t get any traction!”

Aziraphale started to chuckle. The gentle-lightning-bolt S-curve of Crowley’s spine and tail (he was pretty much all spine and tail) repeated itself endlessly but he could slither neither backwards nor forwards. The waterbed’s little ripples further impeded his movements.

“S’not funny!”

“Of course not, love.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and Crowley was man-shaped, shirtless and in black silk pyjama bottoms that slipped fetchingly from his hips as he writhed. The waterbed was still not doing him any favours.

“Let me help,” Aziraphale said, his grin something un-angelic. He sloshed his way onto the bed and loomed over Crowley, reaching for the oil. Crowley shivered as Aziraphale primly miracled his own clothing to neatly folded stacks on the shag carpet, baring all to his shag demon. He slid his hands over Crowley’s shoulders, oiling his back with caressing motions as they kissed.

“That’s not gonna help,” Crowley muttered. “Opposite, really.” His tongue then ceased all objections.

“I’ll hold you in place,” Aziraphale said, biting Crowley’s lower lip as he lowered the very slippery demon to the sheets and started to work his way down Crowley’s body, sliding the pyjama pants down and off, pausing to suck and bite at collarbone, nipples, belly. He hoisted Crowley’s legs onto his shoulders, spreading and oiling and massaging his arse before teasing it with his tongue.

“Ffff----” Crowley exhaled, biting his lip and throwing his head back, to watch Aziraphale eating his arse with gusto, halo shining. He could only take so much. “Please- Hold me tight and fuck me, I still don’t have any leverage.”

“Oh, I do like that idea,” said Aziraphale, surging upward. Crowley’s hole was slick with slightly tingling angel spit but Aziraphale still oiled up his cock before entering him. His hands hooked around Crowley’s shoulders and Crowley grasped his arms, legs up around Aziraphale’s neck as Aziraphale started to nail him _hard._

The mirror action, oh, that was hot.

“Like to watch yourself getting seen to, you vain thing?” Aziraphale panted in his ear.

“No,” Crowley moaned. “I mean, I don’t hate it...but I can watch you. Your back. Your sweet arse clenching when you thrust into me. You can put your wings up and block my view of me, ‘slong as I could still see you.”

“You want to see my wings?” Aziraphale’s coherence was starting to slip as Crowley put every ounce of slack he had into his hips.

“Please!” Crowley wailed.

Aziraphale’s wings beat out, thumping through the sultry air. He was using takeoff motions to help piston himself into Crowley, until ecstasy overwhelmed him. He felt Crowley gasping and going rigid, hot slickness on his belly, sweat and oil everywhere, and his own pleasure building and bursting.

Donna Summer was still moaning. Crowley seemed stripped of breath and bones alike, fiery hair haloed on the sheets. Kissing until he went limp.

Crowley kept the waterbed for a few years until an adventure involving stiletto heels did it in for good. But the sheets had to go immediately.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't mention Crowley's 70s pornstache so you don't have to imagine it if you don't want to, but in my head he totally has it.


End file.
